A/N: Once again, THANK YOU ALL FOR THE FANTASTIC REVIEWS! REVIEWS=LOVE which is always wonderful :) I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story thus far. Please feel free to comment or criticise - any input is welcome. :)

A human being is a part of a whole, called by us 'universe', a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

- Albert Einstein

Chapter Three: Optical Delusion

She gets out of the shower, only because the water has finally turned cold, only because she can't bear to stand awkwardly against the wall as she avoids getting her bandaged shoulder wet. If she could she'd have stayed in there all night she would have. But she gets out, her head throbbing with a dull pain that suggests she should be taking her medication. She reaches for a towel, but her reflection in the full-length bathroom mirror catches her attention. She stares at herself, wet, naked, trembling despite the stream circulating around the room. Idly, she traces the thin scar on her abdomen. A constant reminder of one of her biggest failures. Her wet hair hangs heavily down her back and she can still feel his fingers against her skin, the rough texture of his cheek bristling against hers. She wonders what the difference is between dream and memory.

By the time she gets to the kitchen, the clattering of pots has ceased and Rachel's standing in front of the oven with a smile. "Hey. You feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Olivia lies well, she always has. "I guess I just needed to clear my head, you know? The pain-killers." She rolls her eyes as if to emphasise their effects.

Rachel lets out a relived laugh. "Yeah, well I'd be careful about leaving your front door open if I were you. Especially with that creepy neighbour down the hall." She hands Olivia a glass of Merlot.

"Creepy neighbour?" Olivia raises an eyebrow, "You mean Mrs Blake and her seven cats? Nah, she's harmless."

"Uh, no I meant the pale guy in a fifties hat with no eyebrows." Rachel turns around and opens the oven, "Anyway, forget about all of that, let's eat."

Olivia takes a step into the kitchen, the kitchen that smells surprisingly good. "Wait, you cooked?"

Rachel looks amused. "Well if you look more surprised I'm going to be offended." She walks to the trash can and fishes out a 'heat 'n eat' box of lasagne. "I warmed. But I have to say, my heating skills are improving."

"Very impressive," Olivia says, taking a sip of her wine.

"So," Rachel takes out two plates and lays them on the table. "You gonna tell me why you were so freaked out when I arrived?"

Olivia's mouth pulls into a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I told you, it's the medication. I guess I just sort of zoned out."

Rachel cocks her head to one side and appraises her sister for a second. "Liv, you remember when we were little and Mom took us to the zoo in Jacksonville? And you got lost in the big cats section?"

Olivia nods into her glass.

"When we found you, Mom asked if you were scared and you said no, except you had the same look on your face that you did when I came through that door. And you had nightmares for weeks after that, but you never said anything, not once."

She swirls the wine around in her glass, seemingly transfixed by the deep red vortex before eventually making eye-contact with Rachel. "I've been having these…hallucinations," she says quietly.

"Hallucinations?"

"Yes. I mean, I know it's crazy. I just -"

Rachel reaches out to take her hand. "Look, Liv. I don't know much about what goes on at that job of yours, but from what I read in the papers, there's a lot of weird stuff happening out there and you're the one dealing with it, so maybe…you know, maybe you need a break. I mean, when last have you been on a date?"

Olivia almost laughs. "A date?"

"Yeah," Rachel looks at her with a teasing smile. "You know, you wear a dress, go to a restaurant, have a conversation with another human being. I know that after John you were hesitant to-what?" she stops in mid-sentence when Olivia's face suddenly lights up.

"I know what to do," she says, scraping her chair against the floor in her hurry to get up.

"Who are you calling?" Rachel asks as she grabs her phone off the coffee table and punches in numbers.

"Hi, it's Olivia. Olivia Dunham," she says, ignoring Rachel's confused gestures. "I'm sorry, I know it's late but-" she waits a beat and nods. "I really need to speak to him."

...

The house in Cambridge is exactly like she remembers it. She hasn't been here for a while. Not since before The Bridge and the guilt weighs on her. She knocks on the door twice before it's opened by an elegant woman in her early sixties. She smiles when she sees Olivia and pulls her into an embrace before the younger woman can even mutter "hello."

"Olivia," she says in an accent discernibly British. "It's wonderful to see you."

"You too," Olivia replies, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious now that she's here.

"You know, he won't stop talking about you ever since that call. He even baked a pie."

"I, um," she nervously wrings her hands, "I should have come by. More often. I kept wanting to, it's just, with work…" she trails off, the excuse sounding lame even to her.

"Nonsense," she gives her a warm smile and touches her cheek softly. "You have your job. We know that keeps you busy and we were so proud when we heard about your promotion."

"Thank you, Elizabeth." Olivia finds herself leaning in towards the older woman's soft, maternal touch.

"Now what on earth happened to your arm?" Elizabeth gestures towards the sling around Olivia's neck.

"OLIVIA!" Both women turn to see Walter Bishop standing in the hallway, wearing a bright orange dashiki and a pair of wellington boots.

"Walter." Olivia's mouth pulls into an uncontrollable grin as she walks towards him before being engulfed in a hug.

"Walter, love what are you wearing?" Elizabeth's voice comes from behind them.

Walter pulls away from Olivia and points towards the backyard. "Camouflage, my dear, camouflage. You see, outside I've discovered a nest of ash-throated flycatchers. Remarkably rare birds for this time of year and I postulated that-"

"Walter," Elizabeth holds up her hand. "I think perhaps I'll leave you and Olivia to talk, hmm?" She shoots Olivia a knowing smile, before heading towards the kitchen.

Walter takes Olivia's hand in his and smiles, until his eyes crinkle. "I'm glad you're here, my dear. You must have some pie, yes?"

She shakes her head. "Oh, no, I'm fine thanks."

"It's very good pie. Cherry-bubble-gum." He leans in as if to tell her a secret. "My own creation," says Walter with a wink.

Olivia looks up at him. It's been less than a year since she's last seen him, but the pressure and strain of their last project has left its mark. His wrinkles are deeper, his hair whiter and there's a fragility in him that she never seemed to notice before.

They sit down on the large, comfortable couch and Olivia doesn't mention the fact that Walter isn't wearing anything underneath his dashiki; she merely positions herself so as to be safe from any unwanted images. "How's the teaching going?"

"Hmm-mm, very well." Walter nods. "We're currently covering transgenetic manipulation. I showed them some stills from the Delgmann case. Some of them lost their breakfast." He giggles to himself. "It was rather delightful to see them so engaged."

"That's great," Olivia smiles somewhat half-heartedly and brings her hands up to her face for a moment as she attempts to construct her next sentence. "Walter, I um…"

Walter's face grows darker. "Olivia, are you alright? Your colouring suggests you're under some sort of stress." She watches as fear creeps into his eyes and his entire body goes rigid, "Dear god, it's not the universes again is it? I've been measuring the frequency of the ionosphere and nothing seems to suggest that-"

"No," she briefly lays her hand on his, "No, it's not that."

"Well what then?" he asks in voice like a curious child and Olivia forgets that this is the man who almost destroyed two universes, the man who experimented on her and other little children because of his hubris. All she sees is Walter, the man who, for the better part of four years has acted as her surrogate father, whether she wanted it or not. She remembers his face when she first walked into St. Claire's, the face of a broken, dejected man, brought to life again by the sight of his estranged wife and this young, fresh wide-eyed FBI agent.

He looks at her now, his eyes bright with interest and she exhales a trembling breath. "After you first put me in the tank," she begins, "after John and I shared consciousness I began to see him and you said-"

"I said that his memories were trapped in your head, which was why you could communicate with him on some level. It's all very interesting. You see, the brain acts as a receptor for-"

"Walter?" She cuts him off softly but firmly.

"Yes, sorry," he looks sheepish. "Continue."

"Okay, so," she speaks with her hands, trying to find the best way to approach this. "I've been seeing someone. Hallucinations."

"Of Agent Scott?" Walter shuffles closer to her, clearly excited.

"No. Not Scott. I've never seen this man before, I mean, not in real life."

Walter stands up abruptly and begins to pace, "So, you've had no actual contact with this person?"

Olivia shakes her head.

"Nor have you communicated prior to the hallucinations?"

"No, I-" She shrugs her shoulders, "I may have dreamt about him."

"How frequently?"

"Since I was a child." Olivia's follows Walter's incessant pacing. "Walter what does this mean?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Perhaps he is a projection of your subconscious and not a man at all."

"He hugged me." She says it softly as if she is ashamed.

Walter stops abruptly and turns to face her. "You mean to say this man, this hallucination has taken corporeal form? Oh! Well!" He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a stick of gum that he promptly pops into his mouth. "And this man, has he spoken to you?"

"He knew my name," she clears her throat. "He said, 'Walter was right all along.'"

Walter smiles, "Hmm, well I like this fellow."

"Walter," Olivia's voice is softer now, almost pleading, "I need this to stop. Do you know to make that happen? Maybe if you put me in the tank? With John-"

"With John Scott you had a personal connection. You shared memories. Once those memories were expelled, he disappeared. This is different. You have no direct ties to this phantom. I suspect that he may be a product of your inner consciousness, made corporeal, perhaps something that has lain dormant since childhood."

"So it's all in my head?" She runs her fingers through her hair, frustrated at the lack of answers. "You're saying this is something I made up?"

"Olivia, you must remember. Your...hmm…" he trails off squinting into nothingness, trying to articulate his thoughts. He pulls something bright and metallic from his pocket and holds it between his fingers, "…your unique abilities make you exceptional. Your perception is different to that of the ordinary person. Someone else may have experienced this as a series of lucid dreams, yet to you, it is more vivid. While everyone else watches their lives in black and white, yours is in 3-D." He smiles at her. "Elizabeth and I went to see the loveliest film in 3-D last week. Can you believe that they now make jumbo buckets of popcorn?"

She rubs a hand under her nose and sighs. "So what do I do if he shows up again?" He sits down next to her, so close that she can smell the cinnamint gum on his breath.

"Talk to him."

"Walter, I'm serious."

"So am I, my dear. If this is a projection of your subconscious, somehow manifested into corporeal form, speak to it, ask him why he's haunting you. We all have our demons, Olivia," he says idly flipping an old silver half-dollar coin across his fingers, a habit he's had for as long as Olivia's known him. "Perhaps he's one of yours."

...

By the time Olivia reaches her apartment she's frustrated and tired. She'd expected…more. Answers, a solution, something. Yet Walter's best suggestion was to sit down and have coffee with the product of her insane mind. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. Maybe everyone's right; maybe she is overworked and overtired. Maybe all of this is just her brain's way of telling her she's overdoing it. Yet even as she tries to rationalise it, she knows it's more, it's deeper than a simple stress related episode.

She throws her keys onto the counter with more force than is necessary and unhooks her arm from its sling. It hurts like hell, but she hates the feeling of being confined and restricted. Tentatively, she rolls her shoulder in its socket and winces when a sting runs down her body. Maybe those painkillers are a good idea after all, she thinks. She's on her way to the bathroom when she hears it. First the distinctive sound of running water and then a crash coming from the direction of her destination. Slowly, Olivia retreats to the kitchen and retrieves her back-up gun from the drawer. She cocks it as silently as she can with an injured arm and slinks against the wall towards the bathroom. She stops at the door-frame and listens for sounds of movement and sure enough after a few seconds, she hears shuffling which sounds almost clumsy. She counts to three under her breath then turns the corner and aims her gun directly at the very wet, very naked, very unconscious man on her bathroom floor.

.